


Miss. Jackson

by Jemstone1994



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:57:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemstone1994/pseuds/Jemstone1994
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When her mother goes missing, Miss. Addie Jackson has no other choice but to follow the instructions her mother left behind. Go to London and find her father, the worlds only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Miss. Jackson

**Author's Note:**

> Okay... so this is my first Sherlock fanfic... I'm going out on a limb here posting it for other Sherlock fans to see... so go easy on me guys, feel free to comment, give me notes, tell me what you think. I'm also open for suggestions, I have at least 6 or 7 chapters written but I don't have a set ending... Alright. I guess that's it. I hope you enjoy guys! :)  
> -Jemstone.

I walked the streets looking for that one sign. The street where everyone said I would find the tall man, the man some people still coin as a freak. The man who could save my life.

  
Baker Street.

  
My heels clicked beneath me, I pulled my coat close to me. My first time in London, of course it would be close to winter. My dark hair blew around in the wind. I wondered if my appearance would give him a hint as to who I was. I looked up at the street sign and saw it. Baker.

  
I didn’t have to walk much farther before I found the number on the door. My pulse quickened, and my breath got shaky as I lifted my hand to knock. As I did the numbers and letter shook a little.

  
Here is where I would find him

Here at 221B Baker Street.

Here, the residence of Sherlock Holmes.

I heard footsteps on the stairs, and my breath stopped as the door opened. I sighed when I saw the short man standing before me.

“Mr. Watson?” I asked

“Doctor.” He reached out his hand. “Dr. Watson.” We shook.

“I’m sorry, Doctor.” I put my hand back in my pocket. “I have a case for Mr. Holmes.”

“My apologies, he’s not in at the moment.” He crossed his arms to keep from the wind.

“May I come in and wait for him?” I asked.

Dr. Watson took a moment before inviting me in and then leading me upstairs.

“Cup of tea, Miss?”

“Yes, thank you.” I said as I sat down in the chair.

“So, may I hear a little about this … uh … ‘case’ you have for Sherlock?”

“Yes, of course Dr. Watson, but you’ll want to sit down for this.” I crossed my legs.

“Alright then.” He said as he handed me the cup of tea and sat down. He then gave me a funny look. “You look… Have we? I’m sorry, your face is familiar.” He sipped the tea.

“I would hope so Dr. Watson.”

His face grew confused for a moment; then his eyes grew wide.

“Oh god.” He mumbled.

****

Hours past, I told Dr. Watson everything. He sat before me, still shocked, maybe even confused. We were silent as the door opened, both our heads snapped towards the door as he came strolling in.

“Sherlock.” Dr. Watson called out. I turned to him, he was looking at me; now with concern.

“Not now, John!” he flung his coat off and onto a chair. “I must continue my experiment, I finally found my human ears! Must continue while they’re fresh!”

“Sherlock.” He said again.

“Not now, John!”

“Sherlock!” Dr. Watson raised his voice, I jumped a little, clashing my cup against the saucer dish. Mr. Holmes shouted from the kitchen.

“What, John, what?” he stormed to the doorway.

“You have a case, Sherlock!” he yelled back.

Mr. Holmes finally noticed me. He looked me up and down, sighed and stepped closer.

“I apologize, Miss. What’s your case?”

I inhaled, trying to slow my pulse, and exhaled heavily. Then tilted my head to the side in curiosity.

“Come on!” he grew impatient. “What’s the case? Tell me, fast, and try not to be boring!”

“Sherlock!” Dr. Watson scolded.

“No,” I looked to him. “It’s alright Doctor.”

“American?” Mr. Holmes questioned. “What are you doing in London?”

“Figure it out, Mr. Holmes.” I said. “Deduce me, please. I’d love to see you work before I give you the full case.”  
He tilted his head slightly, and began.

“You were born in America, lived there your whole life. One of your parents isn’t American, you’re drinking tea. What full blood American has tea. Did she ask for coffee, John?”

“No.” John said shifting in his seat.

“I can also tell by how a few words crept out in a British accent, example being how you say my name and the word deduce. You came straight here from your hotel. You dropped off your things and walked here, your hair has been rustled by the wind. Judging from the feather on the collar of your shirt, you have a pet bird. A parakeet. You are 20 to 22 years of age, judging from your skin tone and posture.” He paused and looked at me from a different angle. “Both your parents have dark hair, that’s your natural colour.”

A sigh.

“You were raised by a woman. Your mother wasn’t American. You walk around with too much confidence to have had any form of a father figure. She was strict though, very dominant, never let you date, and you’re single. No tan lines on the ring finger, never been in a serious relationship at least. Lastly, you are from New York, you haven’t lived there long – no accent – but the fashion is all over you.”

I sat there with a stupid grin on my face. “Brilliant, Mr. Holmes. Absolutely amazing.” Mr. Holmes seemed taken aback by my comment, his eyes slowly traveled to Dr. Watson, who was still looking at me. His eyes darted back.

“Your mother is missing and you want me to help you find her.”

Dr. Watson looked up at him.

“She’s not taking care of herself like she normally does. She gets a manicure every month, she skipped it. Nails are worn and the polish is chipping. Less makeup than normal, she doesn't bother to even wash it all off anymore – or at least not before she came here – she put a new layer over two day old make up. As I stated before she doesn't have a boyfriend or a girlfriend, and since her mother relocated to America there are no other family members, only logical explanation for her behavior and coming all this way to see me. Her mother is missing.” He sighed, almost as if he was bored already.

“Exactly.” I said softly.

“Now why should I help you find your mother, Miss.” He stopped. “I never got your name.”

“Miss. Jackson.” My heart skipped a beat, he was so close to figuring it all out. “Addie Hamish Jackson.”  
I hadn't told Dr. Watson my middle name, he gave me a surprised look. Holmes laughed a little.

“What a name. Why on Earth would your mother give you a boy’s middle – “His sentence stopped, and he looked towards Watson. Possibly remembering the joke Dr. Watson had told my mother all those years ago. Sherlock then looked back at me. “Is your mother…? Are you – “ for once today, Sherlock Holmes was speechless.

“Hello, father.” I stood up and held out my hand.


	2. Help Me, Father

“How could this have even happened, Sherlock?”

The two men argued and tried to whisper in the kitchen.

“What?” Sherlock asked, obviously not listening to anything John had said.

“How on earth do you, Sherlock Holmes, have a fully grown daughter?” his voice raised. “You never look at women, you don’t date, and you work all the time. When on Earth did you have the time for this? What woman would have been interesting enough for the great Sherlock Holmes to bed?!” John stopped.

“The Woman.” Sherlock said softly.

“Oh.” John calmed down. “How did that even happen?”

“John, you’re a man of medicine I believe you know how it happened.”

“Not what I meant Sherlock.”

“Long story short: I helped her fake her death – “

“You really need to stop faking deaths.” John added.

“-Then got her to America with a new name. Before I left to come home…we had an eventful night.”

John sighed.

“So, what now?” he asked. When I didn't hear any answer, I looked up just in time to see that Sherlock was leaning against the sink with John to his right. He made eye contact with me, and then approached me with great speed and force.

“How do you know I’m your father?” he asked me.

“My mom told me, before she went missing. ‘In case of emergency, go to London and find Sherlock Holmes’ she said to me; and when I asked who you were she revealed that you were my father.”

“Well, we all know what kind of work your mother was in, I’m sure she continued with it for years, she might not have picked it up right away, but – “

I had heard enough.

“Mr. Holmes, the only thing my mother ever said about you was that you are my father, rather tall, and attractive.” I paused. “Well, at least to her anyway. Yet I know you haven’t had a smoke in over 20 years, maybe the night you spent with Irene Adler in America. You couldn't smoke them ever again, they remind you of that night. Dr. Watson moved out some time ago, but has recently moved back in, Indentations in the carpet suggest not all of his things are here therefore what’s left is still at his old place. Divorce, maybe? Not a long marriage either or the tan line on his ring finger would be more prevalent. Judging from the outline on your arm where your sleeve is slightly rolled up, you had a nicotine patch the other day.” I looked closer. “No… today while you were out. It’s too fresh. Now seeing Watson’s reaction, you haven’t been using them since he moved back in. Let me guess, they’re in your jacket pocket?  
“You were gone for so long, so you could buy some and use one while you got your… ears. From the mud on your shoes you were pacing outside the building that contained the ears. Secret drop off in the back alley exit? Black market body parts, really daddy?”

I grabbed my coat and slipped it on, heading for the door I stopped and turned to him.

“ Oh, my last name is Jackson. Isn't that the same one you gave to Irene Adler when you sent her to America? And, for your peace of mind, Mr. Sherlock Holmes was the last man my mother ever had sexual relations with. My mother and I have an open relationship. I’m sure you could tell that.” I went to leave, then stopped. I had one more fact that would convince him. “By the way, you were a virgin the night you slept with my mother. That’s not a guess or a deduction. She told me. It’s been a pleasure to meet you Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson, thank you for the tea dear.”

I turned up the collar of my jacket and descended the stair case, out the door I went.

“Miss. Jackson!” Sherlock called after me, I could hear him pounding the ground trying to catch up with me. “Miss. Jackson! I believe you!”

I stopped where I was, waiting for him to catch up with me.

“Come back inside, Miss. Jackson, we will help you find your mother.”

“Good.” I said, turning and walking back to 221B. “You are the only one who can.”

“Miss. Jackson,” Sherlock began. “You were wrong about one thing my dear.” He stopped in front of the door, his blue eyes – my eyes – burning into me from at least a six inch height difference. “It wasn’t a divorce. John’s wife passed away last year, and with his son no longer living in London he decided to move back in with me.” He reached out an awkward, shaking hand and patted me on the head. “Nice try though, kid.” He opened the door for me.

“I’m not a kid, my 22st birthday is coming up soon. Honestly, math Sherlock, it’s simple.” I entered the flat and headed back to where we were before. “There is always that one detail I miss.”

“Don’t fret.” John said as he sipped his tea. “It proves you are human, just like your father.”

Sherlock and I froze where we were, standing side by side. John had said it so easy, like I had been the daughter of Sherlock Holmes all my life.

“Too soon?” John sat down his cup of tea.

I looked up at Sherlock, just in time to see the side of his mouth twitch up, as if he wanted to smile. At what John said, or the fact that he said it, I couldn't tell which.

“Alright,” Sherlock looked at me. “Give me all the facts you have about what happened to your mother.”

I sat there and gave him everything I could remember.

A few months before my mother went missing she felt as if someone was following her. Every day on her way home from work she would come in the door as if she was having a panic attack. Little things would be left on the doorstep in the morning, I would find them on my way out to work. I can’t remember what all of them were, many of them I didn't see the inside of. One came the day she went missing. Whoever was after her broke into our apartment, took a can of yellow spray paint, and drew a smiley face on the wall. When I woke up the next morning my mother was gone.

“When I realized something was very wrong, I packed my things, got on a plane, came to London and started looking for you.”

He was silent.

“There was also a name.” I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the envelope. But before I could, Sherlock spoke.

“Moriarty.” He said, a statement of fact, not a question.

“Sherlock,” John sounded angry. “It’s been years! You can’t honestly think this has anything to do with him.”

“Am I wrong, Miss. Jackson?” Sherlock sat still before me, his large hands pressed together and the tips leaning against his chin; almost like he was praying.

I was frozen in place, the envelope still in my hand.

“Miss. Jackson?” Watson called. Both men awaiting my answer. I held out the envelope to Sherlock, before I let him take it I told them what was written.

“To Irene Adler, from the lovely Moriarty Jr. Get Sherlock.”

Watson went pale.

“I thought we had all his men, Sherlock.” Watson’s hands started to shake a little.

“Obviously we missed one, one who wasn’t old enough at the time. The one nobody knew about, quite like Miss. Jackson here.” Sherlock looked at every inch of the envelope as he spoke.

“Are you suggesting that we’re dealing with the son of Moriarty?”

“It’s the only logical explanation. He was too young during it all, his father giving me a choice on the roof, my return, and the fall of every man who ever worked with Moriarty.” Sherlock handed me the envelope. “Now he’s of age and is trying to attack me.”

“Why is he trying to attack you Mr. Holmes?” I finally slipped back into the conversation. The look they both gave me suggested they had almost forgotten I was here. “And why is he using my mother to do so?”

“She didn’t tell you about any of this?” Dr. Watson asked. “Sherlock being forced to fake his own death?”

“No.” I answered. “I know nothing of Mr. Holmes. He’s my father and he solves cases with his brilliant mind.”

“Don’t stroke his ego too much, Miss. Jackson.” Watson smiled a bit. “He might ask you to move in.”

“No, you’re fine Miss. Jackson. I don’t mind being called brilliant.” His mouth twitched again.

“For the record Mr. Holmes, I called your mind brilliant.” I stood up. “I’m going to step outside. Let me know when you two have a game plan.”

I made my way outside and lit myself a cigarette.

This was never how I wanted to meet my paternal unit, but it would do. I could see myself in him, not much, but enough. It was good to know that I wasn’t the only person in the world whose mind works this way.

“A love for nicotine.” I hadn’t heard Mr. Holmes step outside. “That’s something I had hoped you wouldn’t acquire. Sorry about that.” He pulled his jacket tighter around himself. “You know you could have smoked inside.”

“I didn’t want to remind you of my mother any more than I already do, Mr. Holmes.” I smiled and then took a nice long drag.

“Stop calling me that.”

“What do you want me to call you then, Mr. Holmes? Dad?” I laughed a little.

“Oh, God, no.” he retorted. For some reason I felt hurt by the way he responded, and I think he could tell. “Only clients call me Mr. Holmes, you can call me Sherlock. Please do.”

“Thank you, Sherlock.” I smiled, and shockingly enough he gave me a full smile. Before I could say anything else, John joined us in the cold.

“She smokes too?” he approached us and the smile vanished from his face before John could see. “She really is your daughter.”  
Once again his mouth twitched in a small smile when John looked towards me. I couldn’t figure out the relationship between these two. Why did Sherlock keep hiding his emotions from John?

“So, the plan?” I asked. “Assuming you have one already.”

“Yes, of course.” Sherlock began, “Find any evidence of the spawn, track him down, find your mother and live happily ever after.” He gave a mock smile.

“Sounds… very simple for you, Mr. Holmes.” I puffed my smoke. “Simple for Sherlock.”

“Easier said than done, Miss. Jackson. Something always happens to make solving the case that much harder.”

Suddenly a phone started ringing; we all pulled ours out to check. It was Watson. Sherlock and I couldn’t help but listen as he turned and talked.

“Hello? No, I’m at the flat with Sherlock, he’s got a case I just have to tell you about!”

“His son.” Sherlock and I said at the same time. His a statement and mine a question. I grinned in spite myself.

“Yes, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He hung up the phone and turned back to us. “That was my boy. I’ve got to go to the old place, something’s going on with the power again. Would the two of you like to tag along? Show Miss. Jackson around while we look for evidence of Moriarty’s son?”

“Yes,” Sherlock answered as I put out my smoke. “Let’s get a cab.” He then waved down a cab and got inside.

“Miss. Jackson?” Watson called me before we got in. “You know you could have smoked inside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! (If anyone is even reading this...) sorry it's taken me so long to update, I had to work out some bugs in these chapters. Hope you enjoy...  
> -Jemstone


	3. Dr.Watson, The Younger...

It was a long ride out to Watson’s house. Since I’ve never been anywhere but America, I had no clue if we were even still in London.

“Here we are!” Watson said when we all got out. “The old house.”

“It’s beautiful, Dr. Watson.” I said as I admired it.

“Please, call me John. You are the daughter of my best friend after all.” He smiled nervously.

“Alright then, John.” We still hadn’t moved from where we were, but I heard someone knock on the front door. I turned to see Sherlock waiting for an answer.

“Mary picked it out. She had lived here years before we met. It’s close to her parents, her work and – oddly enough – it’s smack in between my sister, Harry, and Sherlock.” He sighed. “It was perfect for all those years.”

“Sherlock!” I heard a familiar voice ring at the sight of my father.

“Hello, boy!” I turned in time to see Sherlock and the young man embrace.

“Come in, Sherlock!” the young man said. Before I could see his face, he turned and entered the house.

“Would you help John in?” Sherlock waved to me as he followed him inside. I looked to John.

“I’m sorry about this. Normally Samuel comes out and helps.” He sounded ashamed, “Ever since Mary died I have a difficult time going inside.” He sighed. “I hate to ask, since we just met this morning and all.”

“It’s okay John, what do you need?”

“Would you hold my hand and walk me inside?” My heart sank a little, I could see a slight amount of pain in his face. I reached out and took his cold hand.

“Of course.” He smiled up at me. “After all, I am the daughter of your best friend.”

We walked together up the steps, to the door, and inside. He stood there for a moment and then removed his jacket, placing it on a nearby coat rack.

“Alright Samuel, what’s going on again?”

“Don’t worry about it John, old boy!” Sherlock called from somewhere in the house. “I’ve fixed it!”

“Every time.” John said making his way to the kitchen and grabbing himself a glass.

“Every time?”

“Every time we come out here, Sherlock manages to fix the problem before I even get in the house.” He looked to me. “Care for a drink?”

“Sure, that would be lovely!”

He reached for another glass.

“What are we having, John?” Sherlock came into the room and stood next to me.

“Is it too early for some Scotch?” John asked as he grabbed two more glasses.

“Not at all, Dad.” I heard the young man say, as he entered the room we made eye contact. Those brown eyes.  
My heart stopped. The blonde hair.

“Ah, this is my son, Samuel.” John said. I flashed back to those nights in the hotel room.

“I’d like to introduce you to my daughter-” Sherlock began.

“Addie.” Sam interrupted. Skin against skin.

“Sam.” I replied. I felt a cold sweat come on as I realized what was happening.

“Uh… You two know each other?” John stopped pouring the drinks.

“We met on one of my trips to New York.” He gave me a devilish smile. “Did you ever clean the riding whip?”  
I could see Sherlock’s eyes grow wide and his eye brows raise in shock.

“Excuse me?” John gave us both a shocked look.

“I’m s-sorry. I need to step outside.” I made my way to the coat rack, grabbed my jacket and ran outside. My cold, shaky hands tried to strike my lighter, but they couldn’t.

“Addie?” A soft, low voice came from behind me. I turned around as Sherlock lit a match and held it up to me. “Inhale, and try to calm down.” I did as he said. “Judging from the obvious signs, you and Samuel have history.” I gave a fake laugh. “Bad history.”

“That’s an understatement.” I continued to smoke with a shaky hand.

“Want to tell me about it?” He asked as if he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say; I gave him a confused look. “What? Isn’t that what parents are supposed to do?”

“I know mom does it.”

Before anything else could be said we heard John’s voice. He was yelling at Sam, we couldn’t tell what he was saying, but I was sure it had something to do with me.

“This isn’t going to end well.” Sherlock sighed as John continued to argue with Sam.

“Does this happen often?” I asked. I could feel Sherlock tense up a bit as John got louder.

“Only once before.” Sherlock answered. “After Mary died.”

I reached out my hand with the smoke towards Sherlock, without saying anything.

“Oh no, I couldn’t. Nicotine patches-”

“Shut up and smoke, Sherlock.”

“Alright, then.” He took it from me and gave it a long drag, savoring the flavor.

“How was I to know who she was?” Sam yelled. “How the hell does Sherlock even have a full grown daughter?”

“Is it really that shocking that you have a child?” I looked over to him, face covered by a cloud of smoke. He handed it back to me.

“I’m married to my work, that’s what I always tell people. I detach myself from emotion as much as possible. If I ever fail to do so, it sends shock waves through all who know me.”

“Who says emotion was involved in my conception?”

Sherlock’s face was blank, he didn’t react at all. After a moment he reached his hand out.

“May I have some more?” he asked, I handed over the cigarette again.

“Finish it, I won’t tell.”

“Thank you.” He said, sans life.

Before Sherlock could finish it, John came flying through the door, now he had a slight limp.

“Hail a cab, Sherlock!” he said.

When he saw the smoke his face turned red and he turned to me.

“You’re my son’s dominatrix and you’re giving my best friend one of his worst addiction back. What else can you do?”

“John, I’m not Sam’s dominatrix! I don’t sleep with my clients!”

“Obviously that’s not true.” Sherlock added.

“It’s not true for you either.” I snapped back.

“Irene Adler wasn’t a client, someone else sent me after her.” He stepped closer to me.

“Samuel Watson wasn’t my client either, we met at a bar in New York a few months ago. We were both lonely, and drunk. I needed to get away from mom and he had a hotel with a big bed and a nice shower. He was never my client.” The anger that was inside of me came from nowhere. “We’ve been seeing each other ever since. Whenever he’s in the city he gives me a call and I’m there. Why is that such a big deal?”

“He’s engaged!” John yelled. “He’s getting married in four months. Something tells me he’s not ready for that kind of commitment, since he’s been running around with the filth of New York.”

This had escalated so abruptly, I didn’t know how to feel. I had just been used to break up the engagement of my father’s best friend’s son.

“Dad!” I heard Sam from the house, he came to the three of us. “Stop.”

“You used me?” I looked at Sam, he didn’t answer.

“What’s Emma going to think when she finds out, Sam?” John looked so disappointed. “I raised you better than this.” He sighed. “Why would you do something like this to the woman you love?”

“Dad! Can we talk about this later? This isn’t a conversation to have out here.”

“Addie.” I felt Sherlock grab my arm. When I turned to look there was a taxi pulled up with the door open. “Come on.” He pulled me,

“We’ll see you gentlemen later.” Sherlock helped me into the cab and slid in next to me. He then gave the driver an address.

“Where are we going, Sherlock?” I asked.

“How do you feel about Chinese food, Miss. Jackson?” he gave me a fatherly look, and smiled a bit. As if to day he was sorry for what just happened.

“I love Chinese food.” I smiled in relief.


	4. The Best Chinese in London

The smell of food almost knocked me off my feet when Sherlock held the door open for me. He walked to a table and sat down. From the way he made himself at home in his seat, I’d say he sat there every time he came here.

“This is, by far, the best Chinese you’ll find in London.” He said handing me a menu. After the waiter came and took our order, we sat in awkward silence. Sherlock cleared his throat, and I decided to speak.

“What exactly happened back there?” I asked.

“A man trying to hide his failed engagement from his father.” He answered without looking at me.

“What?” I said as the waiter sat down our drinks, I waited until he left to continue. “If he was hiding a failed engagement from John then why did he out our relations to the both of you?”

“He was trying to protect Emma’s reputation.” He looked at me.

“I don’t follow.” I said slowly.

“Make a deduction. Deduce the situation as it was before you. The small things.” He sat and waited while I thought about every small and large detail of what had happened.

Nothing.

“Sherlock, I still-”

“Her things weren’t in the house anymore.” He said.

“Why were her things there to begin with?” I asked.

“When Mary died, Samuel was living by himself. Then when he and Emma got engaged John gave them the place since he had already moved back in with me.” He explained.

“So, if her belongings had been moved out already, that means something happened.” I started to put the puzzle together.

“My guess is that it happened just before his trip to New York-”

“When he first met me.” I interrupted Sherlock as it clicked. “The only way a man like Sam could have taken me home like that is if something had happened. He was rambling about an Emma in his sleep. She must have cheated on him, that’s why she packed her things – most likely while he was in New York with me – and left. If it was something he had done he would have moved out, feeling guilty he would have given her the place.” Click, click more of the pieces together. “But, he still loved her so much that he didn’t want anyone – even his own dad – to have a negative view of her. That’s why he asked about my riding crop in front of you both. He just couldn’t explain it to John without revealing Emma had cheated on him.”

“Very good, Addie.” Sherlock said with a bit of a smile. “I came to the same conclusion before I hailed the cab.”

“I’m getting better at this.” I smiled a little.

“Be careful though, Addie.” He said as our food was brought out. “There’s always that one detail.” He examined his food. “With my age I’ve come to terms with that fact. No matter how right I am, I can still be wrong.” He sighed. “Oh so very wrong.”

“Will they be alright?” I asked.

“Yes, I suppose, we just have to give them time. Let them simmer down.”

We ate in silence until Sherlock spoke again.

“Better?” he said.

“What?” I replied.

“Are you feeling better? Did this food help in any way, shape or form?”

“Oh, yes, thank you very much.” I gave a halfhearted smile. Sherlock sighed.

“Look, I’m not this person. I can’t act like your dad. That’s not my thing.” He tried to explain.

“That’s alright. I didn’t come here looking for my dad, I got on that plane to find the world’s only consulting detective to help me find my mother.” I cleared my throat and took a sip of my drink. “You don’t have to be fatherly towards me. If it helps, don’t think of me as your daughter, think of me as a newly found friend who needs your help.”

“I don’t have friends, Addie.” He whipped his lips with his napkin, he had hardly touched his food. “I only have one.” He slightly pushed his mostly full plate away from himself.

“Well, too bad Sherlock. Now you have John and myself.” I looked him dead in the eye. “I may not want you to try to take up the actions of a father, but I do want you in my life. Deal with it.” I felt it was the right thing to say, and it was the honest truth.

“Alright then,” he said as he pulled out his phone. “I’m glad we got that out of the way.” He was silent for a long moment.

“Is everything alright, Sherlock?” I asked.

“Just sending a text.” He replied without looking away from the screen. “Now, I believe it’s time for us to go.” He put his phone away and got up from the table.

“Go where?” I asked as he placed money on the table.

 

“Home.” He put on his coat and headed for the door. I jumped up and ran after him.

“Home?” I questioned. “But, what about your plan to help me find my mother?” I wrapped my coat around me.

“There’s nothing more you can do tonight, Addie. John and I will do what we can tonight and update you in the morning.” He waved down a taxi. “But you my dear, need to sleep. You’ll be no good to John and I tomorrow if you’re sleep deprived.”

“What? Why? What’s going on tomorrow?” I asked as he opened the taxi door and helped me inside.

“Nothing – as far as I know.” He gave the driver the address to my hotel.

“How did you know that’s where I was staying?” I was beginning to feel tired.

“It was a lucky guess – it’s also the only one within reasonable walking distance of my flat. I’ll see you in the morning. Here’s my number.” He handed me a napkin with his number on it. “Text me when you’re awake and ready to continue.” He shut the door and the cab driver pulled away, leaving behind the silhouette of Sherlock under the street light.

When I got to the hotel, I made my way to my room. I stumbled as I took off my coat and tried to find some night clothes in my bag. My vision was becoming fuzzy as I changed; brushed out my long, dark, tangled curls; and washed as much of my make-up off as I could manage.

I stumbled to my bed and sighed in relief. My muscles relaxed and my breathing slowed down. I hadn’t realized how tense I was, the stress was taking its wrath out on me. Finding my father set me at ease. Taking tonight to sleep is the right thing to do. Sherlock was right, I’d be no good to them tomorrow if I was sleep deprived.

In a matter of minutes I was asleep.


	5. A Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I figured I'd post one more chapter tonight since it's been 3 months since I got on here to add.  
> Please, feel free to give feedback and tell me what you think.  
> Thanks in advanc, and I hope you enjoy.

I felt myself wake up, every part of me rejecting the motions as I pulled the covers off, sat up, put my feet on the ground, and headed to the bathroom. As I sat on the toilet, I ran my hands through yesterday’s clothes to find the napkin with Sherlock’s number. When I found it, I grabbed my phone off the sink.

12:06pm.

I haven’t slept this late since the summer before my senior year of high school.

One missed call. One new voicemail.

That’s odd, I thought to myself. I decided to check it after I messaged Sherlock. I typed out the message as fast as I could.

“Sorry it’s late, just woke up. I’ll text again once I’ve freshened up – Addie” Send.

I sat the phone back down on the sink, finished my business and got ready for a shower. I tried so hard not to take my time, but the warm water eased my body. Every fiber of me, right down to my soul, felt like it was melting. As it did, my faith that Sherlock, John and I would find my mother – alive – grew stronger.

Sometime during my shower I heard my phone go off. A reply from Sherlock, I assumed. Not wanting to keep them waiting any longer, I finished rinsing off and made my way out of the shower.

I still felt sleepy, and in a bit of a fog as I picked out my underclothes, jeans, and a long sleeved shirt. Once I was fully dressed I went back into the bathroom to grab my phone off the charger again. As I grabbed it, I looked in the mirror to see how bad my hair was.

That’s when I noticed it.

My heart sank.

The colour washed out of my face and I almost fell to the floor.

A yellow smiley face with the abbreviation of junior – Jr. – written beneath it on my mirror. It was fresh still, the paint ran down the mirror slightly.

I quickly shut the bathroom door, locked it, and sat down in front with my back against it, then with shaky hands I called Sherlock.

“Good afternoon Miss Jackson, I trust you’re well rested.” He said before I could speak.

“Sherlock, they’re here.” I whispered, in case they were still near. “Please, come help me.”

“Moriarty? In your hotel room?” I could almost hear fear in his voice… or was it excitement?

“Yes. Please, hurry. I’m locked in the bathroom.”

“Just remain calm, Addie. John and I are on the way.” I could hear movement outside the bathroom door. “What’s your room number?”

“311, third floor.” I couldn’t hear what was happening outside, but the movement continued.

“Alright, we are en route to your hotel now; just stay on the phone with me, Addie. Tell me what else is going on.”

“I can hear him. He’s in my room, I can’t tell what he’s doing, but he’s trying to do it fast.” I described it as best as I could.

Suddenly there was a loud crash.

“Addie, what was that?”

“Uh, I think it was the lamp next to my bed falling to the ground and shattering into a million pieces.” It became very quiet on the other side.

“Addie, what’s going on now?” he almost sounded out of breath.

“Nothing. Nothing. They aren’t making a sound out there.”

“We’re almost there, just stay in the bathroom al-”

Bullets came flying through the bathroom door above my head. I screamed out in horror, then got down on all fours and crawled under the sink. My phone, that I had accidentally thrown, was now by the toilet. I could faintly hear Sherlock calling my name as the gunfire stopped.

It became quiet again.

I was too scared to move, even when I heard Sherlock and John enter my hotel room and try to open the bathroom door.  
When I didn’t answer to them, or open the door, Sherlock kicked it open. I looked up at him from under the sink. Before he or John could say anything I jumped out and grabbed Sherlock, forcing him into a hug.

I could almost feel the expression on their faces. Sherlock would go from shock, to confusion, to anger; while John would go from shock, to understanding, then to annoyance when he saw Sherlock’s anger.

“Sherlock.” I heard John whisper before Sherlock hugged me back. “I’ll step outside and call Lestrade.” John said softly. I buried my face in Sherlock’s shoulder, trying to stop myself from crying. But I couldn’t seem to. Sherlock’s hug grew tighter, as it did I felt myself start to calm down and the tears stop falling.

“First time being shot at?” his voice vibrated my chest.

“Y-yeah.” I replied with a stutter.

“It’s only scary the first time, or at least that’s what John says.” He still had a hold of me; I continued to calm down.

“Th-thank you for c-coming.” I stammered.

“Of course I came, I thought we could catch him. He was gone by the time we arrived, but I’m sure he left some form of evidence behind.”

The sound of his voice reminded me of a time when I was little. A memory so faint, it was almost forgotten. I remember being held, by a man, his deep voice soothing me into a deep slumber… ages upon ages ago.

“Lestrade and his team are on their way.” John poked into our moment.

“Addie, why don’t you go out into the hall with John?”

I sighed and let go of Sherlock; I looked over to see John holding out his hand to me.

“Miss. Jackson.” He gave me a worried grin.

“D-dr. W-watson.” I stuttered as I took his hand and he led me out the door.

When John and I got out of the room, I stumbled to the wall directly in front of my door, leaned my back against it and slid down until my butt hit the carpeted floor.

“How are you feeling, Addie?” John knelt down next to me. I didn’t answer. “Addie, I think you’re in shock, so I need you to tell me how you’re feeling.”

I didn’t answer, just looked inside my hotel room. The door was open.

John sighed, took off his jacket and tried to wrap it around me.

“She’s in shock, Sherlock.” He said as I watched Sherlock examine the room.

“How did the two of you get in?” I questioned.

“The door opened when we pushed the handle.” John answered.

“You didn’t use a key card?” I looked around the floor near the door.

“No.” I could see John giving me an odd look out of the corner of my eye. I got up and looked behind the door. There lay my mother’s favorite scarf, the one she was wearing the day she went missing.

“What is that?” John asked as I bent over to pick it up.

“Mom’s scarf. They must have used it to jam the door so it wouldn’t lock when it closed. It must have come out during the commotion; when you opened the door that must’ve been enough force to toss it out.”

When I finally looked up from the scarf, I saw the mess they had made of my room.

The lamp was broken, my clothes were thrown across the room, and the bathroom door had the letters “I O U” written in the yellow spray paint, with all the bullet holes going through the “O”.

“Oh my.” I said softly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Something Moriarty used before Sherlock’s fake suicide.” John answered.

“Would you two please be quiet!” Sherlock exclaimed. “I need to go to my mind palace. Get out!”

“What?” I raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a thing he does sometimes to solve a case.” John said as he tried to lead me out.

“I’ve already figured out what happened.” I said.

“What?” Sherlock locked eyes with me. “What do you deduce?” he stepped closer to me.

“During the normal housekeeping someone who has access to my mother logged this fragment of her scarf in the locking mechanism of the door. When I arrived at the hotel last night I was so tired I didn’t noticed the door didn’t click behind me. They used my shower as an opportunity to vandalize the mirror. I couldn’t hear it over the running water. When I exited the shower they were standing in the hall waiting for me to dress – at least they were courteous – and when they heard the bathroom door slam they came back in and redecorated the door. Judging from the amount of noise it was one person, light on their feet – either a small child or a woman. From the shattered lamp and how high the writing is on the door they knocked off the lamp and used the night table as a plat form while writing the message, the shoe marks should indicate a brand that will lead you to the minion or Moriarty Jr. Whomever may have been here.” I said it all a little too fast, but from the look on Sherlock’s face I could tell he got it all.

“Oh, bloody hell!” I heard a strange voice call out. “There’s two of them again?”

“Lestrade, thank you for coming.” John turned and spoke with the grey haired man.

“Shoe marks.” Sherlock squinted his eyes, then they widened. “That’s what I didn’t think of!” He walked over to the night stand and looked it over. “If they wore those shoes outside the streets of London, the evidence should be on here. From what I can see it’s a woman’s sneaker. Looks like the dirt left an imprint of the number seven.” He turned back to me with a smile, then he walked back to me, put his hand on my shoulder and turned me to Lestrade.

“Addie, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade.” Sherlock motioned to him with his free hand. “Lestrade, I’d like you to meet my daughter.”

I looked up at Sherlock, his face read proud. When I turned back to see the reaction, all I saw was confusion. From Lestrade and John.


End file.
